


Shadows of the Mind

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Abusive Filbrick Pines, Angst, Child Abuse, Depictions of Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Emotional Abuse, Filbrick Pines Is A Jerk, Gen, Physical Abuse, Swearing, lots of trigger warnings, no happy ending, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 16:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10575549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Stanley Pines remembers what his father was like. None of it is good.Please read the tags before you read the fic.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. It doesn't even have a particularly happy ending. I am so sorry.  
> Please please please read the tags.

Stanley Pines, old and grizzled, stared for a long time at their family photo. Filbrick Pines, forever with his hat and shades, never impressed. Cassandra Pines, with her carefully-styled hair and red claws, distant and lofty. Stanford, grinning, a little strained around the eyes but, then again, when wasn’t he under some deal of stress? And Stanley, grinning broadly, one arm around his brother’s shoulders affectionately.

He couldn’t stop staring at the stern, heavy face, the shades, the ever-present frown. Echoes of words and emotions flooded his brain.

And Stan started remembering.

* * *

At eight years old, he had grabbed those shoulders and shoved them, hard, sending his twin stumbling into a doorframe. He hissed, “Go, get outta here, I’ll be okay!” Ford stared at him, concerned, for a long moment, before running through the doorway. When he looked up, he saw his father looming over him, glaring straight through his shades.

Stan was knocked to the ground by his father’s large, powerful hand. He scrambled backwards, towards the doorway, knowing he couldn’t escape but his instincts trying anyway. He looked up with wide, scared eyes. “I’m s-sorry, Pa,” he whimpered.

“I’ll make you sorry,” Filbrick boomed, and his voice filled the living room, filled Stan’s ears, filled his head, filled his entire body.

“Pa, p-please, it was just a vase, Ma n-never even l-liked it anyway,” he pleaded, eyes welling with fearful tears as he glanced at the shattered porcelain and splash of water on the floor.

“I don’t care; I think it’s time to show my fuck-up son what happens to kids who can’t do anything right.” And there it was, twirling lazily in Filbrick’s meaty hand: an electric extension cord. “Get up, go to the couch, and lift up your shirt, Stanley.” His voice was soft and deadly.

“Pa?” Stan whispered, his voice cracking.

“You’d better lean on that couch and lift your shirt right now, boy.”

Stan was shaking but he did as he was told. This was gonna hurt. A  _ lot. _

It did. When it was all over, he headed up to the bedroom he shared with his twin. As soon as he opened the door, Ford ran right over to him and cleaned his face and put bandages on the welts on his back that had started to bleed. Stan noticed that Ford’s face was also tear-streaked. He must have heard Stan screaming.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Ford whispered.

“Yeah, I did,” Stan replied, his voice thick and hoarse. “You’re my brother.”

* * *

One night when they were thirteen, Filbrick got home late, very drunk. Stan and Ford were awakened by the sound of their father shouting at their mother for not finishing washing the dishes. She said something, and there was the sound of a slap. Stan and Ford leapt from their beds and raced to the stairs. “Ma?” Ford said softly. “Did Pop hit you?”

Cassandra looked up at them with a worried look in her eyes and a fake smile on her face. “Go back to bed, boys, everything will be fine.”

“No,” Stan said quietly. “It won’t. Pop’s just gonna hit you some more, isn’t he?”

“Go back to bed,” Cassandra insisted, her eyes flicking to Filbrick’s.

“I won’t go back to bed,” Stan said, louder. “I won’t. Pop can’t just...just hit you like that! It’s not right!”

“Stanley,  _ go back to bed! _ ” Cassandra’s eyes pleaded with her sons.

“No,” Filbrick slurred, his voice dangerous. “Stanley, come down here.” He beckoned with a thick finger.

Stan stumbled down the stairs, looking at his mother apologetically.

“Filbrick, please,” Cassandra begged, reaching for her husband, but he pushed her away.

“You think you can stand up to me?” he growled, breathing his intoxicated breath into Stan’s face. “Fine, then. Be a man, Stanley. Stand up to me. Show me what you’ve got.”

“I, I,” Stan stuttered.

“‘S what I thought,” Filbrick slurred, and lazily backhanded Stan into a wall. Stan slid to the floor, clutching his cheek. “You’re nothing but a screw-up,” Filbrick leered. “Weak. Useless. Brainless. Worthless.” He nudged Stan with his foot disinterestedly for good measure, then staggered up the stairs, knocking Ford aside as he did so.

Cassandra was trying her best not to cry as she knelt beside Stan, who was fighting back tears himself. “Stan, honey…” she said, “I….”

“I’m goin’ back to bed,” Stan said flatly, and, standing, made his way back up the stairs. He paused to help Ford up, then entered the bedroom, closed the door, and flopped on his bed.

He didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

* * *

Stan watched, horrified, as Filbrick advanced upon a fifteen-year-old Ford. “You got a C?” the man thundered, spittle flying from his lips. Ford nervously wiped his face with his sleeve and nodded.

“S-sorry, Pop, it was a hard test!” the six-fingered boy protested.

“Tests shouldn’t  _ be _ hard for you! It’s the one thing you should be  _ good _ at! It’s the  _ one thing your freakish hands can do for me!”  _ Filbrick shouted, jabbing a finger in Ford’s face.

Ford grabbed at his extra finger, tears welling in his eyes. “Pop, I-”

Stan’s face grew hot and he saw red as Filbrick’s hand shot out and slapped Ford, hard. Ford let out a cry and staggered back. The larger man raised his hand to do it again, but he was stopped when an iron grip closed over his wrist.

“Don’t hit him,” Stan said, his voice quiet and dangerous even as it cracked.

Filbrick yanked his hand away. “You think you can tell me what to do, you miserable mistake? I never asked for you,” he said, jabbing a finger into Stan’s chest. “And you,” he continued, turning back to Ford, “I never exactly asked for a kid with extra fingers, now, did I?”

Ford, frozen, shook his head slightly, eyes wide with terror.

“Then maybe you should try to make up for being a  _ freak _ with some good  _ fucking grades, _ ” Filbrick spat, again striking Ford, whose knees finally buckled with a cry of pain.

Stan boiled over with rage and he lunged at his father, ready to make him pay for hurting his twin, but the larger man simply grabbed Stan’s wrist and twisted it hard, too hard, until he felt his shoulder nearly pop from its socket. The boy bit back a whimper, digging his teeth into his lower lip. “Get out of my sight,” Filbrick snarled, shoving the teen away from him and leaving the room, most likely to drink something potent and harass their mother.

Stan collapsed to his knees beside his brother, fighting desperately to keep back the unmanly tears that were threatening to leak from his eyes. The first thing he did when he caught his breath was to check on his brother. “You okay?” he asked quietly, touching Ford’s shaking shoulder.

Ford shook his head. Stan leaned his head against Ford’s shoulder and stared at the ceiling. “Yeah,” he said. “Me either.”

* * *

_ Bruises, stripes, welts, scars. _ Evidence littered seventeen-year-old Stan’s flesh from his latest encounter with his father. He examined it as he sat alone on the beach, by the nearly-finished Stan-O-War.

It had been one hell of a day, between one thing and another. He’d gotten into another fight with Crampelter for calling his brother a freak of nature, he’d failed two tests, and he’d gotten home late, which had worried his mother sick.

Filbrick Pines had not been pleased. He’d screamed and blustered, thrown various items, and even beaten Stan with a cane somebody had pawned. Stan had decided to try to shove Filbrick and make a break for it, which had only made it worse.

When he’d finally escaped his father’s wrath, he ran for the beach, his only safe place. His father never came down here. The only one who would ever come for him was Stanford, and he was busy working on some dumb nerd project.

His head spun and he touched the back of it gingerly. There was some blood in his hair; just great. He was pretty sure he also had a black eye and a bad laceration on his right shoulder, but Ford could probably take care of the latter, like he’d done the last time. His nose ran and he scrubbed at it. Bloody. The same salty substance contaminated his mouth and welled from numerous cuts and welts.

What the hell, he decided to assume that he was just bleeding all over. He didn’t care, instead gazing out to sea. The sun dipped its edge into the horizon line of the ocean and Stan wished he could just sail over that line and disappear from the face of the earth.

That was all he wanted to do; get away from this beach, this town, his house, his parents. Nobody but his brother and him, sailing across the deep blue sea, dropping off the edge only to reappear in some distant, perfect world where every day didn’t greet them with pain.

But that would never happen. Letting out a couple of tears he’d normally be punished for, Stan rubbed his wrist across his eyes and stood up. He should be getting home; his mother would be worried about him.

* * *

Stanley Pines, old and grizzled, let the photo drop to the floor. The glass in the frame shattered. He didn’t care. So many emotions, so many memories, so much hatred, so much guilt, it was all so overwhelming.

His chest ached with caged sobs that he wouldn’t let out. He didn’t want to upset the family, after all.

Besides, tears weren’t very manly, were they?

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, leave me some kindness in the comments if you liked this. And by kindness I mean you could say almost anything and I'd take it as kindness.


End file.
